


In Good Health

by devera



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Doctor/Patient, M/M, Medical Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/pseuds/devera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If everything is permitted, then perhaps Ezio can have this too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Good Health

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since the ACkinkmeme had me in its clutches, but I thought perhaps it was time to own up to some of my better fills, for people that still may actually be interested.
> 
> The prompt was: [Sub!Ezio/Dottore - Ezio's getting an examination](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1611.html?thread=7917387#cmt7917387). Set somewhere in Brotherhood. It's pwp; who actually cares where?

Occasionally, very occasionally, Ezio seeks to be treated for no illness, no injury. It took him some time to find the right _dottore_ , many discreet inquiries and rumours followed, some hours perched outside the practice in question, unseen, watching the sick and injured and merely hysterical come and go until he was fairly certain. The act, when he finally approached the physician in question, had lasted only a short time but it had lasted long enough, and then they had come to an... understanding. He would not have the practice closed nor the  _dottore_  defamed, and the  _dottore_  would not question either his motives or his identity; he would merely... administer treatment.  
  
And the treatment is this: Ezio, laid out face down on the examination table. He is wearing his shirt but not his breaches, and he can feel the cool impersonal leather of the doctor’s gloves on the flesh of his thighs, can feel the man’s fingers pressing into his skin with no hint of professional disinterest. He can hear the man’s rapid breathing behind the bird like mask that he wears but neither of them have ever suggested he take it off.  
  
The doctor tells him what he is going to do before he does it. His voice is gentle, understanding, and if it shakes a little as he speaks, well, he is a man as well as a physician and Ezio does not mind, he merely obeys when the doctor says, “I am going to examine you internally now, signore. We must be mindful that all injuries have been seen to. Please spread your legs.”  
  
Ezio takes a shaking breath and tries to calm his racing heart as he does as requested. One of the doctor’s hands has a firm grip on the back of his thigh, his thumb curling with inarguable direction into the soft flesh of his inner thigh, the other Ezio knows is reaching for the grease, which the doctor has already assured him many times before today has been made for if not these then similar purposes. For a moment, neither of them move or speak, and then the doctor is deftly parting the cheeks of Ezio’s buttocks, his body moving to brace itself between Ezio’s knees and then his leather, grease slick fingers are there, in that place, exposing him in a way that Ezio knows the doctor can see, can gaze upon him completely, and a violent, uncontrollable shiver travels up Ezio’s spine.  
  
“Shh,” the doctor admonishes gently, his touch alighting upon Ezio’s hole, slick with the grease he is spreading. “You must relax. This is for the good of your health, is it not? I understand, signore.”  
  
Ezio shivers again, because the words are not so different to those the doctor usually uses, but they ring with a different truth this time and Ezio is not expecting that a man who has basically been manipulated and blackmailed into being used thus should adopt such a tone of compassion.  
  
“You would be surprised, signore,” the doctor is still saying in that soft, gentle tone, as he pushes a finger slowly into Ezio’s body and Ezio breathes and trembles and tries not to fight it. “You would be surprised how important such things are to a person’s continuing well being. We, as doctors, although I admit I am not among the most learned nor the most gifted, are not taught to judge, only to determine the source of an illness and do what we can to alleviate it. How is that? Are you comfortable?”  
  
Ezio blinks at the blank, crumbling wall not more than an arm’s length from his face, and realises that he is expected to respond.  
  
“I-“ he tries, holding himself as still as he can. “Yes, it is fine.”  
  
“Then I will continue,” the doctor tells him, and Ezio gasps in silently at the drag of his finger out and then the renewed push, slightly stronger than before, of two leather clad fingers.  
  
“You are an excellent patient, signore,” the doctor tells him, a note of possessive pride in his voice. “Willing to seek me out before the complaint grows serious. You... respond well to treatment.” He turns his fingers a little, spreading them inside him and Ezio grunts before he can stop the noise as the sensation ricochets up his back and floods his pelvis. “Yes. Very well. But I must be thorough, mustn’t I. It would be remiss of me if I didn’t conduct a most thorough examination. Don’t you agree?”  
  
Ezio can feel the man’s member hard against the back of his thigh, as it has been in every session since almost the beginning, and he struggles, as he has every time, to remain still, to not rub himself against it just to hear the man’s breathing hitch behind the anonymity of his mask, to feel his fingers clench deeper into Ezio’s flesh, to have him push with more force than he would otherwise need to use into Ezio’s body, mimicking the one thing Ezio increasingly knows he wants but can never have.   
  
“Yes,” he agrees, unable to sound anything but breathless at the idea as his own aching, turgid member throbs painfully where it is pressed against the cold, flat surface of the table. “You must be... as thorough as you are... able.”

“Hmm,” the doctor agrees, his voice rough and although Ezio will not allow himself to move, the man’s hips grind briefly against Ezio’s rear, pushing the fingers rudely into him for a moment and making him gasp blindly at the wall. “You must explain to me again what happened,” the doctor continues. “I assure you there is no shame in it, and it will go no further than what is between us. It was two men who attacked you?”  
  
Ezio opens his mouth, momentarily transported back to reality at the idea that two men could even present a threat, let alone- Oh.  
  
“Yes,” he agrees quickly. “They... came upon me unawares. While I was... while I was bathing.”  
  
“Ah,” the doctor says, almost a sigh. “Such wicked men will take advantage wherever they may. Tell me again what they did to you, so that I can ensure to treat you properly.”  
  
There is no warning of a third finger this time, and Ezio does not –  _cannot_  – remain completely impassive as it pushes into him.  
  
“Ahhh,” he groans, and then, “They- fought me to the ground. I – Oh, God.” The doctors fingers are no longer probing, but thrusting slowly, rhythmically, his other hand no longer gripping Ezio’s thigh but one cheek, spreading him open. On every thrust, pleasure is tearing up Ezio’s spine and filling his entire body, making it almost impossible to think. “I am a... a fine fighter. But they quickly overpowered me. The bigger fellow... held – Ngh! Held me down! And his friend.... his friend...”  
  
He is gasping for breath, his whole body rocking into the thrust of the doctor’s fingers as sensation consumes him. It was not like this before; it was controlled, clinical, the doctor pushing and prodding and squeezing and sliding, describing everything he was doing and seeing, telling Ezio how good he was, coaxing and reassuring, until Ezio finally spilled his seed in a shuddering mess against the table. But not now. Ezio can almost see the scenario as described, the two faceless men stretching him between them, their hands strong and meaty on his naked body, holding him down even while they ignore his protests. He has never desired men, not in that way, but something about the fantasy is wildly arousing and he is no longer in control of his own actions.  
  
Neither, it seems, is the doctor.  
  
“Did he spread your legs, as I have done?” he demands, and his fingers shove hard enough into Ezio to push him onto his toes. “Did he penetrate you? It’s important to tell me the truth; someone who does not know what they are doing, or is perhaps too violent, can damage you here. Can you feel it? Where my fingers are?”  
  
“Christ!” Ezio swears. “Yes, yes, yes!”  
  
“Did they fuck you, these men?”  
  
Ezio feels like all the air has been sucked from the room, like the fire in him has consumed it all.  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“And did you like it? Did you spill your seed as their cocks pounded into you?”  
  
“Oh, God. Oh,  _Christ_!” Ezio can hear himself moaning, gasping for breath after breath, and then suddenly he can hear nothing. The world is awash in a haze of deafening silence as pleasure bursts from him, long exquisite shudders of bliss which leave him dazed and panting, until he understands what has happened.  
  
He is on his feet so abruptly, so suddenly, that the doctor, formally a warm, shivering weight along the length of Ezio’s back, staggers back several steps. For a moment, Ezio stares at him. The bird mask stares back, every line of the man’s body communicating alarm, fear even. The line they have crossed stands almost like a physical barrier between them.  
  
Ezio gives himself – gives neither of them – time to think, but flings himself at the man, knocking him back against the desk behind him, knocking the mask from his face, and then finding the entirely human mouth hidden beneath it with his own.  
  
There is surprise there, but Ezio feels joyous and free, like his soul is too vast, to glorious to fit into his own skin, and it does not concern him. And then in another moment the surprise is gone and the man is kissing him back, and it should be strange to discover the taste of another before he has really seen his face but that is of little concern also. Ezio keeps kissing him, messy and uncoordinated, drinking up the man’s gulping breaths as he shoves his hand between them and finds his cock and rubs.  
  
“Oh, dear God,” the doctor gasps between kisses and Ezio laughs into his mouth and keeps rubbing until the body in his arms is clinging and twitching and moaning broken syllables of encouragement.  
  
Finally, he is spent, and they half stand, half lean together against the desk, close and panting, holding each other. Ezio has the impression of blonde hair and blue eyes and a warn face not much older than his own, and he smiles, and kisses the man once more, tenderly this time.  
  
“Well,” the doctor breaks the silence between them first, and he sounds, of all things, embarrassed. It is laughable, after what Ezio has had him doing for the past several months. “Err. How do you feel, signore?”  
  
Ezio laughs quietly and raises a hand so he can urge the doctor’s head back and look at him properly. He is not a typically handsome man, his features too thin, his mouth too wide, but Ezio thinks him the most wondrous thing he has ever seen.  
  
“I feel invigorated, Dottore! Like a new man!”  
  
The doctor’s eyes go a little wide for a moment. “Oh,” he says, and a blush rises to his cheeks which is entirely delightful in Ezio’s opinion. “Oh, I... see. That is. That is good. I wasn’t sure. The treatment...”  
  
No longer under the blinding influence of his own lust, Ezio understands what is being said.  
  
“Was perfect,” he finishes for him. “But I am sure I will need to visit you again in the future. Will that be advisable?”  
  
The doctor stares at him for a moment, and Ezio tries his best not to grin into his face, lest it be taken badly. He is only happy, that is all, perhaps deliriously so. There is a whole new world of possibility opening up to him suddenly, and he can hardly grasp the implications of it.  
  
“I – Well, of course, if you find you are suffering similar symptoms again, you may call on me at any time.”  
  
Ezio practically bounces on his heels as he lets the doctor go, and turns to find his discarded clothing. He will clean up later, when he is safely back in his den. For now, he will enjoy the feel of the drying mess of his release and the faint ache in his arse and the slick feeling between his legs as he will cherish the memory of how they were acquired. He drags on his clothing and then pushes his feet into his boots and secures his leathers in silence, but it is far from oppressive, and when he is finally ready and turns, there stands the doctor, unmasked still, watching him.  
  
“Here,” the man says, and holds out something to him. “For any... discomfort you might experience in the next several hours. Make sure to rest and have plenty of liquids –  _not_  mead. You might also develop a slight fever, so ask for a tincture of Sambucus Nigra or feverfew of one of the street physicians. I was...” he stops and looks at Ezio in the manner of a man facing his accuser for some unnamed wrong, ”ungentle, towards the end.”  
  
No-one has wronged anyone, all things considered. In fact, if wrong has been done, it is by Ezio himself, and suddenly he knows how he shall make amends.  
  
“You did nothing I did not... appreciate,” he assures, reaching to take the vial being offered. “And handled me as I wanted to be handled. Here is your payment, as usual.” Normally he would leave it on the desk after the doctor had vacated the room, immediately following the procedure, but now he passes the money directly into the man’s hands, and somehow he does not feel it inappropriate to do so. He lingers as the money changes hands. “It seems insufficient,” he says lowly, catching the doctor’s eye, “considering your level of care. Perhaps next time, you might consent to a... different form of payment?”  
  
The doctor opens his mouth and sucks in a breath and with that, Ezio already knows what the answer will be. He leans forward again, stealing another quick kiss from surprise-slack mouth, and then he is slinging his sword belt over his shoulder and pulling up his hood as he opens the door.  
  
“Until then,  _Dottore_ ,” he says, and steps lightly out into the corridor to find his way up onto the rooftops and then through the night.


End file.
